Natasha's eyes glinted under the starlight, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"You jealous?" Aron teased again, leaning back on his elbows, letting the ocean breeze tousle his silver hair.
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she scooped a handful of wet sand and lazily let it trickle through her fingers. Her gaze stayed on the falling grains, like each one was a thought she wasn't ready to say aloud.
Finally, she murmured, almost casually:
"Maybe."
Aron raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. "Maybe, huh?"
She gave a small shrug, the fabric of her loose shirt slipping slightly off one shoulder. The moonlight kissed her skin, tracing the elegant line of her collarbone.
"You're not exactly easy to replace," Natasha said, her voice low, almost lost in the waves. "Most guys can't dodge bullets, rewrite reality, and make mochi on a bad day."
Aron chuckled, tilting his head. "High standards."
"I had to survive Fury's insanity, save the world a few times, and babysit Stark. Forgive me if my taste is a little... refined."
Their eyes locked.
For a moment, the teasing fell away.
The sound of the ocean dulled, like the world itself had leaned closer to listen.
Natasha shifted, her knees brushing lightly against his thigh, deliberate but casual, like a soldier testing a line before charging it.
Aron's heart thudded once. Hard.
He caught the faint tremble in her fingers as she toyed with the hem of her shirt. She wasn't nervous, not exactly. But there was a storm under her skin, a lifetime of walls cracking at the edges.
And God, he wanted to be the one she shattered them for.
He leaned in just slightly, voice dropping to a murmur.
"You know," he said, "if you want something… you should take it."
Natasha's breath hitched.
She didn't hesitate this time.
She moved.
Fast, like the assassin she was.
But when her lips met his, it wasn't a violent crash. It was slow. Careful. Testing.
Her hands slid up his chest, fisting lightly into his T-shirt like she was anchoring herself, pulling him closer without even realizing it.
Aron responded instantly, one hand finding her waist, the other cradling the back of her head, fingers weaving into her loose hair. He kissed her back, matching her pace, deepening it just a little, enough to make her gasp softly against his mouth.
The kiss was raw. Honest.
Not the kiss of a spy or a soldier.
Not a calculated move.
But a woman finally letting herself want.
And want, she did.
When she finally pulled back, barely an inch, her breathing was uneven. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes... God, her eyes were molten green, staring at him like he was the last real thing in her crumbling universe.
"I hate you," she whispered, her forehead pressing against his.
"You taste different from mochi," he murmured, grinning against her lips.
She let out a half-sob, half-laugh and shoved him lightly in the chest.
...
[Next Morning – S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ – Manhattan Branch]
Agents bustled from room to room, the usual rhythm of organized chaos. Reports were flying in from around the world: anomalies sealed, missing civilians found, no more portals, no more monsters. For once, there was no new apocalypse looming over breakfast.
At the heart of it all, in his glass office high above the city, Director Nick Fury sipped a black coffee, his one eye scanning through a stream of holographic reports.
The door to his office chimed.
Without looking up, Fury muttered, "Come in."
Natasha Romanoff stepped inside.
She was in casual clothes... dark jeans, a simple jacket, hair pulled back in a loose knot. No tactical gear. No mission files tucked under her arm.
Just her.
Fury finally glanced up.
He knew before she even said a word.
Still, he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him.
"Well?" he said. "You running, or you walking away?"
Natasha smiled faintly.
"Resigning," she said simply, tossing a slim folder onto his desk. Her S.H.I.E.L.D. credentials. Her security passes. Her badge.
All of it.
Fury picked it up without a word. Turned it over in his hands like it was heavier than steel.
"You sure?"
She nodded.
"Not a mission. Not a cover. Not a trick. I'm done."
Fury was quiet for a long time.
Then, he set the folder down carefully and leaned forward, fixing her with that piercing stare that had rattled men three times her size.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" he asked.
His voice wasn't hard. Not the Director barking orders. Just a man asking a question.
Natasha's lips curved, not quite a smile. Not quite sadness either.
"I found something," she said, remembering the kiss from last night.
She looked at Fury, her voice steady.
"For the first time... I'm choosing me."
Fury exhaled slowly through his nose, tapping a slow rhythm against the desk. His eye softened, just slightly. "Took you long enough."
Natasha gave a small, tired chuckle. "Guess I'm a slow learner."
Fury stood up and came around the desk.
For a moment, she thought he might shake her hand, like a soldier being dismissed.
Instead, he held out his arms.
Without hesitation, Natasha stepped into the hug.
It was brief. Firm. No words wasted.
When they pulled apart, Fury cleared his throat, like he hadn't just broken his own 'no hugging' rule.
"You ever change your mind... door's always open," he said gruffly.
Natasha smiled. "Thanks. But I don't think I'll need it."
Fury nodded once. "Then go. Before I come to my senses and assign you to desk duty."
She turned to leave, her footsteps light, her heart even lighter.
Just before she stepped out the door, Fury called after her.
"Romanoff."
She paused, glancing back over her shoulder.
Fury smirked, the faintest shadow of amusement in his eye.
"Tell that silver-haired bastard of yours he owes me a beer."
Natasha's smile widened.
"I'll make sure he brings a whole crate."
And with that, she disappeared down the hall.
Free.
Finally, truly free.
...
[Genosha – Morning – The Market District]
The streets were alive with color.
Vendors shouted cheerfully from their booths, selling everything from exotic fruits to handmade jewelry to mutant tech gadgets. Children darted through the crowds, laughing and playing, their games leaving trails of giggles in their wake. Adults milled about, chatting, shopping, heading to work... And the fun part was that no one was hiding their power and were using it openly to do their daily work or whatever they were doing.
Genosha was flourishing.
Truly alive.
Wanda adjusted the leash around her wrist and gave a tug. "Goldy, heel."
The enormous golden retriever... if "golden retriever" could properly describe the hyper-intelligent, semi-telepathic mutant canine with multiple mutations Aron had supercharged, which resulted in his giant size, wagged his tail once, and immediately got distracted by a butterfly.
Jean laughed, pulling her sunglasses down against the bright morning sun. "You know," she teased, hands tucked into her jacket pockets, "for an Omega-level being, Goldy has the attention span of a five-year-old."
Wanda smiled, her red hair catching the light. "I think that's why Aron made him our 'official emotional support dog.' He's too busy chasing butterflies to care about impending doom."
"WOOFF!" Goldy gave a cheerful bark and lunged after another butterfly, dragging Wanda two steps forward before she reined him back with a mock glare.
"You chase that butterfly, and I'll turn you into one," she warned.
Goldy wagged his tail harder, completely unfazed.
They walked side-by-side down the bustling market street, soaking in the normalcy. For once, there were no explosions, no alarms blaring, no interdimensional rifts vomiting nightmares into the sky.
Just… peace.
Wanda breathed it in.
Jean tilted her head, glancing over the crowd. "You feel that?"
Wanda nodded. "Happiness. Real happiness."
It wasn't forced. It wasn't bought with battles. It was earned.
As they turned a corner near the central plaza, Goldy suddenly perked up, ears forward, tail wagging faster.
And that's when they saw it.
A crowd of kids, maybe ten, maybe fifteen, were gathered in a loose circle around something.
No, around someone.
Jean squinted.
At the center of the circle was a man, awkward, thin, with ice-blue hair sticking up in every direction like he had been struck by lightning and hadn't recovered.
It was Eyescream.
Mutant ability: The ability to turn himself into any flavor of ice cream.
A... slightly ridiculous mutation, in the grand scheme of things.
But right now?
He was flourishing.
Literally.
Standing there with a sheepish grin, he was extending his arms out, transforming his fingers into massive swirling cones of ice cream... vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, even neon green pistachio, and letting the kids eagerly scoop handfuls onto their cones.
One little boy shouted with glee, "I GOT COOKIES N' CREAM!"
A girl next to him shrieked, "MINT CHOCOLATE CHIP!"
Eyescream blushed deeply, holding very, very still as the kids mobbed him like he was a mutant Santa Claus made entirely of sugar.
"Next you," he pointed at the shy kid with silver skin. "Choose... Sky is the limit."
Goldy whined excitedly at Wanda's side.
Jean grinned. "Do you think he has peanut butter flavor?"
Wanda smirked. "Only one way to find out."
They strolled closer, Goldy practically pulling them forward with his nose in the air.
One of the kids, noticing them, shouted, "MISS WANDA!MISS JEAN!"
Instantly, the crowd parted, revealing Eyescream, who looked like he wanted to melt into the pavement.
Literally.
"I-It's not what it looks like!" he blurted, frozen (pun intended) in embarrassment.
Jean tilted her sunglasses down just enough to raise a delicate eyebrow. "Really? Because it looks like you're running an unlicensed ice cream stand out of your arms."
Wanda crossed her arms, smirking. "Health code violations. Unauthorized commerce. Possible bribery of minors."
Eyescream paled, which, considering half his body was vanilla swirl at the moment, made it extra funny.
"I... I swear! They asked! I was just...! I just wanted to help!"
Wanda leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially, "You got pistachio?"
Eyescream blinked.
Then, pop!
One of his fingers morphed into a perfect scoop of pistachio ice cream. He took a cone and put the ice cream on it before handing it to her.
Wanda took a lick.
Jean leaned in, watching her carefully.
"...?"
Wanda licked her lips, nodding slowly.
"Approved," she said gravely.
The kids burst into cheers.
Eyescream almost fainted from relief.
Goldy barked once, then lunged in, tongue first, at Eyescream's arm. The poor man yelped and backpedaled, flailing to protect his chocolate swirl appendage from incoming dog slobber.
Jean couldn't help it.
She laughed.
A real, belly-deep laugh that made nearby flowers literally bloom brighter from the Phoenix's resonance.
Wanda laughed too, steadying Goldy with a telekinetic tug before the golden retriever could fully turn Eyescream into an after-dinner treat.
Jean wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "This," she said between giggles, "is the weirdest, happiest thing I've seen in weeks."
They stayed for a while after that, helping Eyescream organize the sudden, chaotic ice cream party into something a little more manageable, like passing out cones, setting up a line, and making sure no one tried to actually bite the poor guy.
And for a while...
There were no ancient gods.
No portals.
No fear.
Just sunlight, laughter, and a golden retriever trying to eat pistachio out of a mutant's arm.
Peace.
...
[Noon] [Beach]
Aron, Natasha [Powered up], Wanda vs Jubilee, Kitty, Jean.
Jubilee narrowed her eyes. The volleyball was in her hand. "I hope you are ready to lose."
---
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